All The Small Things
by Sinisstar
Summary: It doesn't have to be big. Sometimes, the small things are all it takes. *Oneshot, Raph-centric. Sequel to "Happiness Pie"*


**Disclaimer:** NO YOU. Wait, NO MIRAGE! TMNT is Mirage's. And stuff.

**Warnings: VERY STRONG Language, potty humour**

**Note:** To celebrate the small things in life, here's another slice of "Happiness Pie."

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All The Small Things

_Another_ Raphael Story

By: Sinisstar

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Twist and block and duck and _JUMP!_ And left-kick spin-kick crouch and _LEAP!_ Then right-block left-block turn, and **_fuck this shit right up the tailpipe and all the way to Georgia!!_**

Raphael lurked menacingly in the corner of the dojo, bulging arms folded across his chest, jaw clenched, his teeth a failing orchestra of bone grinding out a poor copy of somebody's angry-at-my-dad-and-the-whole-world-too death metal song – the perfect example of uncompromising irritation, otherwise known as the immediate precursor to "HULK SMASH!!"

Like The Blob, only more physically consistent, Raphael quivered in a decidedly gelatinous way as he waited for his brothers to realize that he was no longer a member of their Ninja Riverdance rehearsal. In total, he only needed to lurk and quiver for about three seconds before the others felt the sting of his invisible, radioactive daggers, which he was shooting out of his eyeballs at them.

Three seconds is a terribly short amount of time. So short, in fact, that it is barely worth the five seconds it takes to acknowledge its length deficiency. That is, if you're God. But since nobody on Earth is God, and everybody knows that all the people who claim to be are either pompous twats or nutbags, three seconds can often be found taking over Eternity's gig when Eternity needs a break from _certain people's_ already questionable perception of time.

In those three seconds, a lot of stuff danced through Raphael's head: namely, stuff that pissed him off a lot. And how that stuff pissed him off even more when he had to encounter it first thing in the morning.

For instance, when he realized Michelangelo hadn't properly sealed the lid for the Cap'n Crunch cereal container. When Raphael opened it that morning, he discovered an army of those tiny, nasty little bugs that sort of look like black rice. (He didn't know what they were called, he only knew they were shaped, and looked like, rice. Black rice. That moved.) It pissed him off when this kind of thing happened.

Although Raphael was not, by nature, the most conscientious of people when it came to hygiene and health, he fully – and firmly – supported Donatello's insistence on protecting their food supply from insect ruination. Just because they lived in a sewer didn't mean they could (or should) share their meals with the bugs and grimy things also dwelling underground. That sort of carelessness shat on the generosity of Casey and April, who often brought them supplies, plus it was just nasty. And bugs were horrid. Yuck.

What also pissed Raphael off was when Leonardo tried to get away with putting the milk container back in the fridge… when there was, at maximum, maybe half a swallow left. Oh, Leo tried to hide it, passively transferring the blame onto Mikey by keeping his mouth shut and presenting all in attendance with his patented, _"I am the Leader, I am responsible and not prone to such ridiculousness! How could you **possibly** think to pin this on **me**?"_ look. But everybody knew it was Leo, because everybody knew (from countless times before) that Michelangelo was a gluttonous hog-beast that took much pleasure from gobbling up every scrap of food product he could before anybody else could get so much as a whiff of it.

There _was_ a reason Donatello was a tad underweight, and it wasn't _entirely_ to do with forgetting meals while in the heat of his projects. No longer was the Hamato household legendary for its first-come, first-serve policy, and they'd all more or less given up on their childhood hyena-style feasting rituals, but old habits are sometimes hard to shake.

Then there were other things, like personal morning quirks that don't belong at the breakfast table.

Stupid Donnie.

Raphael still wasn't sure whether Donatello was aware of his morning flatulence, though for the life of him he didn't know how his mellow brother _couldn't_ be since it never failed to crack Michelangelo up and it had been pointed out to him too many times to count. He thought, maybe, that Don did it on purpose; there was NO WAY he couldn't know. But, Raphael thought, it really didn't add up, because Donnie was the kind of guy to blush at having publicly _belched_, and he would avoid even using the toilet at April's place for a quick wee if there was any reasonable way to do so without having an accident. And he always tried to aim for doing his business when nobody else was around.

It boggled Raph.

His brothers were weird.

It was annoying.

Donatello was the first to stop, and had done so the instant his brother abandoned the mat. He stood patiently, pretending that he _hadn't_ thought (for just a moment in the initial confusion) that his sparring partner had somehow learned to become invisible at will. He was also trying very hard not to blush at the shameful fact he hadn't realized Raphael was gone until he discovered himself sparring with thin air.

Leonardo was next to cease, because he was anal-retentive to detail of his surroundings and knew Donatello wasn't. The spin-kick he had planned was put to the wayside in lieu of this, and he didn't particularly want to feel guilty today for kicking his brother in the head. Leonardo only knew _that_ would happen because Michelangelo was currently airborne; the only way to save himself _and_ Don was to brace himself as best he could.

Michelangelo had seen everybody else stop but he didn't care. He plowed into Leonardo like a Sephiroth fangirl, limbs askew, and proceeded to roll through Leo and then Donatello like a bowling ball taking out the last two pins. "Wheeeeeeeeeee!" he cried, and when he came to a halt he dissolved into a gigglefit.

Leonardo fixed Raphael with a cold look. "_Well_?"

**_Well_**_, is there a reason you're not participating?_

_Well, it had better be a **good** reason!_

_Well, we have to keep in shape, there are foes lurking in every corner, always, so anything less than an emergency is completely rejected! You're putting us all in danger! What is WRONG with you?_

_Well, what do you have to say for yourself Raphael?_

Drawing himself up to his full height, now calm and cool because the time had come for Raphael to make his stand, he said:

"You guys fuckin' _suck_."

"Gee, _somebody_ woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," Michelangelo huffed loftily.

A strange cloud appeared, dark and threatening, hovering silently for a foreboding moment that lasted three seconds.

Then Raphael punched him.

Later that day, after their temperamental brother had taken his leave (_"Screw you guys, I'm goin' topside!"_), the remaining three tried to figure out what had set Raphael off.

A week later, life followed the advice written on shampoo bottles: lather, rinse, repeat.

History, it seems, _does_ repeat itself.

That pissed Raph off, too.

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_Epilogue:_

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Dear Diary,

Life is like a pig trough of rotten cunt juice puked up by an inbred Kentucky faggot.

Thanks for listening.

Sincerely,

Raph

p.s. And thanks for not telling Splinter I said that. Sometimes I think you are my only real friend.

THE END

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_End note: ….don't ask._


End file.
